


Tending to the Maiden

by LeoSapphirus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoSapphirus/pseuds/LeoSapphirus
Summary: Extra chapter meant to be included after chapter 3 of The Lion Maid.Just some snippets of Jaime's time caring for Brienne after having escaped from Stoneheart and reached the Quiet Isle.





	Tending to the Maiden

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-ed. Forgive my mistakes.

He examined her carefully. _Again_. His fingertips ghosting over her battered skin. Not truly touching just… He did little else now. And found himself watching her bandaged cheek as if he could will it to heal. Praying to the gods, he begged. There was a sickening agony to it. A desperate terror. When had this happened? When had Brienne’s wounds become his own? How they savaged him.

 _“You are going to die, you stupid wench!”_ He hissed furiously at the blistering, broken woman before him. And heard the resentment in his voice. If she did… he’d never... “You should have let me hang.” A bitter sob escaped him. “Who asked you to fight for me?”

She didn’t like that. Her face contorting sourly. A sound of protest escaping her plump lips. Then what could have been his name. She was calling for him. _Again._ Her large hand reaching out. Desperately, he took it. Guiding it to his face. Pressing her touch into his skin.

“Forgive me.” He plead against her palm, before covering it with his kisses. “I… You’re not leaving me, my lady. I won’t let you.” He took the wet rag that had been laid upon her forehead, dipped it in cool water, and gently returned it to her fevered brow. As he had done countless times before. As he would do countless times more. Not daring to close his eyes for fear he’d wake to find her cold. Gone.

***

The Elder Brother came before dawn to see how the maiden had fared the night.

“She is alive.” Was all he could say just then, as the man stepped into the cottage. His eyes never leaving her face.

It cost him to release her hand. To stand and move away from her. Yet he did. Giving the brother room to study Brienne. Anxiously, he stood by watching them both.

“Have you been praying to the gods, Ser Jaime?” The brother asked him as he felt Brienne’s brow.

“Yes.” He whispered hoarsely. Never mind that he’d hardly been one to pray before. He’d devote himself to the Seven if…

“The gods are good, Ser Jaime. The fever lessens.”

 He let out a ragged breath. Tears of gratitude stinging his eyes. _This doesn’t mean she’ll survive_. He told himself. It was a bitter warning. Yet hope bloomed in his chest just the same, as if it were honeysuckle in spring. There was nothing he could do to stifle it.

“Her condition is still critical, but not so dire as the day prior. We must take duteous care of Lady Brienne’s wounds lest she succumb to the infection.”

As if he would do anything else. He lived to tend to her now.

***

“Open your mouth.” He instructed the sleepy wench.

Blue eyes opened instead. And were closed again. He had not seen them in near two days.

“Brienne, look at me.” He found himself pleading. Needing to glimpse that shade of blue once more, if even for a second. She did not obey. The dream wine keeping her from him. 

It didn’t matter. He would wait. The fever had broken. There was time now. _There’d be time._

He brought the spoon to his lips and blew. Then tasted to test that it was just right.

“Open.” He insisted as he placed the spoon upon her bottom lip. She listened, thank the gods.

Slowly he eased a small amount of broth into her mouth. “Swallow.” He urged. “It’s not so bad, really.”

She complied. To that. Then turned her head to the side, as if ready for sleep and nothing else. He couldn’t have that.

“I’ll make a deal with you, wench.” He said teasing. Hoping the name might provoke a response. “You eat one spoonful and then I’ll eat one myself.” He had broth enough for the both of them. Two large bowls full.

In truth, he’d refused food when she’d been burning up and had taken to eating and drinking only as she ate and drunk. 

 _“Lady Brienne will need you to keep up your strength.”_ The Elder Brother had reminded him.

He knew it to be true, yet could not manage to have what she did not have.  

But now that she’d had one sip, he took a spoonful of broth and drunk it down himself. “Mmmm.” He moaned, wanting her to think it appetizing.

For no reason at all, he dipped the empty spoon back into his mouth. Wanting to know if any taste of her lingered. _How would he know? He’d never truly kissed her. Not on her full lips. Not as a man kissed a woman._

“Your turn.” He told her confidently. And found her responsive, in that she opened her mouth and drank the broth down. “It’s almost as if we’re kissing, wench. Since we’re sharing the same spoon.” 

Did that please her? Did she… Was she aware, at least on some level, of the foolishness he was saying?

***

“We are here to bath the maiden.” A brother informed him solemnly one morning. He came carrying two buckets of water. The man halted having crossed the doorway, expecting him to step outside surely.

“I will not leave her.” He refused. “She’ll want me neither.” 

“You are not her husband, Ser.”

“Nor is any man here.” He said fuming.

“We are brothers of the Faith.”

“Is that meant to give me comfort?” As if it meant much, when Brienne laid sleeping. Did the man think he'd let them have her nude? And with thighs spread to boot? 

“We will do all we can to preserve Lady Brienne’s modestly.” The Elder Brother informed him warmly as he walked in. He held up a cotton sheet, indicating that Brienne would be covered, even while her body was washed. “Why don’t you stand by the door, Ser Jaime? You may stay if you keep your back turned.”

He did as the Elder Brother bid him. In part. His back never turned for very long.

***

The Elder Brother had left a large jar of witch hazel jelly on the bedside table. “Apply it gently to Lady Brienne’s closed wounds. And to your own as well.” The man had instructed.

He wanted to sooth all that hurt Brienne. He wanted to touch her. To keep touching her.

With the one hand left to him, he was soon rubbing the clear jelly over her freckled skin.

Naturally, he had started with the cruel rope marks now etched into the flesh of her neck. _Gods, how was she alive at all?_

As he carefully coated them with the witch hazel, he found some older scars as well. _These were from the bear._

He spent ages exploring every inch of her not hidden beneath the roughspun sheath she now wore. Every mark telling a tale of some battle lost or won. Some he thought he knew. Others were a mystery to him. Were it that she would tell him every last one of her stories. 

His hand trembled as he hiked up the garment enough to expose her long legs. There were plenty bruised here as well. However, he stopped himself before the blonde curls at the apex of her thighs could be revealed. That he would not do. _No matter how… Gods be good, he felt himself a blushing boy._

Needing to focus elsewhere, he moved down her body, pulling the wool socks off her big pale feet. Bigger than his own, he noted. Yet, womanly in their own way.

Inspecting them closely, he found some nicks he needed to add the witch hazel to. But even after that his fingers continued to trace over them. Mischievously, he tickled her. She giggled girlishly at that. All gleeful. His heart was pounding.

Curiously, he kissed the sole of both her feet before putting her socks back on.

 ***

She was fretting again. Something horrid stalked her dreams.

Some foul and merciless beast came for her night after night. Her cries of terror breaking him. _He could not bear it. Would not._

“You are safe with me, my lady.” He assured her frantically. “Brienne. You are safe.” He was telling her as much as himself. “I am here, my love. Jaime is here.”

All he wanted was to protect her. Keep her safe. As he should have done.

Desperately, he took her into his arms. Minding to be gentle with her. To always be tender and soft. Her warmth was all he cared to have. That and her love. He kissed her because they both needed it. Because it soothed him better than any balm ever could.

“Gods be good, my love. You are with me.” He sniffled as he cradled her. His lips lingering close to hers. _Wanting more, needing more._

“Jaime.” She called.

“Yes.”

She puckered her lips as if ready for another kiss. As if they’d been courting and she’d been waiting all night. _It their own way, mayhaps they had._

That he returned readily, eagerly. And it smoothed her in turn. _A maiden should be kissed long and sweet after the sort of adventure they'd been on._

Smiling he went on, kissing her as deeply as he dared. He’d at least have that pleasure, no matter what else came. And never forget. Not the feel of her. Nor her taste. He’d treasure that until his very last.

And it seemed even in dreams she was eager to have him. Delighted even. Her nightmares having been chased off by his love. It was his kisses that brought her joy.

He’d keep kissing her then. If that was what his lady would have of him.

***

He crawled back in bed the second he was sure the Elder Brother was well enough away. The feel of the straw mattress and coarse sheets familiar to him now. As if they were his own. They had become pleasing even, for both were warmed by her body. Both smelled of her. _Of Brienne._

The other brothers did not approve of him remaining in the women’s cottage now. And he with not a fuck to give. She wanted him close. _So close._ And murmured happily when he molded himself against her body. “That’s right.” He whispered against the pale shell of her ear. “I’m right here. Always here.”

No one would be returning for the night, he thought. And even if they did, he wasn’t about to budge. He loved to be abed with his maiden. The pleasure of being alone with her, even as she slept, was…

 _Would she think it wrong when she woke? Likely._ And tough if she did. No place else suited him so well, and she would fret terrible when he was away. Even if it was just for a second to take a piss. She’d whine frightfully then. Wanting him at her side at once.

She could hardly blame him, besides. When it was  _she_  who had dragged him into this mess in the first place. All for the sake of some boy who’d gone missing. All for the sake of oaths and honor and madness. What was he to do with a maid who was ready to die fighting for him? The songs never spoke of such a lady. It was always the knight who staked his life for the maid, not the other way around.

 _There was nothing to do but to love her._ His mind offered readily. There was nothing else to be done _._ He agreed with not a hint of self-control. His lips were upon her skin once more. All too happy to indulge. That had her sighing in contentment. The corners of her mouth pulling up into a smile.

His own lips followed suit. His joy feeding off hers. Making him bolder. He was kissing at her freckles again, savoring each and every one that he got. Drawing sweet pleas of _"Yes, Jaime."_ from her. 

She'd be off the dream wine soon. Her healing coming along so nicely. They'd be free to explore all they wished together then. To be lovers in full.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


End file.
